The Duchess and the Stable Lass
A popular romance in Ospus, available in both explciit and expurgated versions, depending on printer. The text is reproduced below. The Duchess and the Stable Lass In firstmonth there came a dire and frost-laden wind across the kingdom; granaries were reinforced by burly men with enriched wood, and wizards from across the low valleys put up barriers against the ravages of winter. As the protections piled up, the coffers of the county of Dunstead ran low and the people grew uneasy. The Duke Manfred requested his wife, the Duchess Brunhilde take soundings across the valley. But bandits ran amock in these times, and the hedge-shrouded highways would strip the coin from your purse as well as put a chill to your bones. So Duchess Brunhilde elected to leave her instruments of state at home, cast aside her finery and take but common vestments and a small pouch. Alongside this, she secreted a dagger of quickness and cunning, at the behest of her staff. It was clothed in this manner that she made her way from the castle, on foot, to the town of Dunstead, somewhere in the low valleys of Ospus, to seek out a balm for her people's woes. She travelled alone for a time, chanting a blessing against the cold, but serendipity or bad luck made her chance upon a horde of bandits accosting a young woman escorting horses into town in threadbare garb. "Be still, and pay the toll," one of them hissed. "Aye, and ye can pass safely," said the other, a burlier man with a thick beard. "Get off me, I can ill afford this toll. These horses are not mine, they are for my master at the stables." "Surely you must have some coin on you." "These are my coin, when I return them, until then I am penniless as you gentlemen." "I'm sure these nags could fetch a greater price, should we arrange a trade." "Truth be told, these are sick with winter's chill, and will give you little." "Little's better than none," said the burly one, and readied his sword. Brunhilde's dagger was also ready, and presented itself as a second tongue shining in his gaping mouth. She withdrew it, and glared at the remaining bandit. She drew closer and he stepped to the side, trying to creep away from her dark eyes and quick arm. This was a mistake, as one of the horses kicked and sent him tumbling into the sedge. "Do you require any aid?" Brunhilde asked of the woman. "If I may be escorted back, I would greatly appreciate it," she replied with a smile, and the Duchess was stunned. She was a half-orc with a glittering eye and hair put in a thick braid that extended down to her ample bosom. The Duchess accepted the charge, and took the opportunity to ask question after question regarding the state of the town, the mood of the people, any outstanding issues. She presented herself as a visitor, a curious one eager to learn more. But everything she heard she had already picked up from the staff of her castle, and assorted officials in the town. "How about you assist me in the stables? You may speak with me for the afternoon, and have some coin and a new insight or two." "Gladly." They approached the outskirts, and the stable beckoned. The horses were returned and the Stable Master was despondent. "Tabitha! Nothing could be done?" "Nothing." "They will surely not last the winter." Brunhilde patted the horses and whispered a brief incantation, in the hope it would at least fortify it against the harsh times. She was granted a fork and tasked with assisting the Stable Lass. From noon to night they sifted through the hay, mucked out the stable and watched as the horses grew stronger and heartier. Eventually they collapsed into the hay together. "Tabitha is an odd name for an orc." "Half. It was my mother's name." "I am Brunhilde." "Like the duchess." "I suppose so." "They tell a story of her here." "Do they?" Tabitha smiled and spoke softly in the tones of a seasoned storyteller, "You should never spurn a warlock, so they say, but when Manfred the Elder sent out Unification Day invitations, he ignored the leader of a league of powerful ones, right on the doorstep..." Brunhilde chuckled inwardly, at this far-fetched tale. Tabitha continued, "Godmund, the vengeful, elected to cast a spell on the castle," and this made Brunhilde's hairs stand on end. Godmund was a name she heard before - the Duke's family would curse it, mutter darkly when any misfortune fell on the land. "If any duchess in this castle proves unhappy, then sevenfold shall the land suffer," Tabitha took a breath and concluded, "until her heart is restored. So until this day, people have called pestilence and cold winters The Curse of Godmund." "Goodness," said Brunhilde, and stared at the tall beams of the stable. The Dukes of Manfred's line were hardly known for following their hearts - and her own match was definitely one that was purely business. She felt more like an employee than anything else. She had hardly noticed that her head was in Tabitha's lap, nor that her long hair was being stroked, until the last syllables of story disappeared into the ether. The world seemed less cold somehow in that moment, and her lips trembled. "You're shaking," Tabitha said. Brunhilde looked up at her, aglow in the torchlight, and succumbed to the overriding instinct she had felt for hours: she kissed her. Amid the tumbling embrace that followed, trees regained some of their colour, and birds began to sing again. Godmund was scorned by their passions, which lasted the whole night through. "Duchess, that was wonderful", Tabitha said when at last she opened her eyes. "You know who I am?" "I have seen you in miniature, so naturally." "I am sorry, I made a mistake, I... have the Duke." "What matters your Duke to me? He is concerned with the land, and our passions mend it." "You suggest I... I continue this affair?" "No affair. I elect to be your bedwarmer, your companion, sanctioned, for the good of the land, and of us." It was in this manner they returned to the castle, and Tabitha presented herself as a senior aide to the nation. The Duke raised an eyebrow, but was content with the arrangement. That night, the Duchess bedded the Stable Lass on the finest silks, and the Duke composed urgent correspondence with his svelte young scribe, and all was well within Dunstead. "